First Dig Two Graves
by ltjvt1026
Summary: My followup to "Murder Most Foul". Gibbs,a sniper rifle and Pedro Hernandez. Need I say more? Please R
1. Getting In

**Disclaimer: NCIS and "The Road Goes On Forever" are the intellectual property of their creators. I'm just borrowin' 'em for a spell. I promise I'll put 'em back where I found 'em when I'm done. Honest.**

**Authors Note: **I've had writer's block for the past 10 days. It's lifted and this story is what's coming out. I hope that it comes out right.

**Spoilers: **Is there anyone who reads this fandom that does not know the story of the death of Gibbs' family, his subsequent killing of their murderer and his joining NIS/NCIS? If you're one of those people consider yourself spoiled.

**Background: **For the purposes of this story I'm using the timeline of my story "Murder Most Foul". You may want to just scan that story to become familiar with that timeline. In flashbacks during "Hiatus" we see Gibbs going thru a border checkpoint into Mexico to go get Pedro Hernandez. I would hope that an individual with some experience in covert ops like Gibbs would not leave such an obvious trail. So _this _story is going to depart from canon in that respect. There are going to be several other departures. So all you purists out there can holler _AU!_ all ya want. It's my sandbox. Also, I've never been to southern Arizona and northern Sonora Mexico so I'm just going by maps and satellite imagery off the Internet.

"_Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."__**- **_**Confucius (551 BC-479 BC)**

**Gibbs' house, Base housing, Camp Pendleton MCB, April 17, 1991, 2100hrs**

Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting at his kitchen table with a yellow legal pad and a road atlas. Earlier in the day he'd been at the NIS field office picking up his Beretta from Special Agent Mike Franks. Yesterday Gibbs was a very short step from killing himself. Franks stopped him and confiscated his pistol for the night. Gibbs grinned slightly.

_And the bastard got me good and drunk._

When Gibbs went to claim his weapon, Franks went to the head. On his desk was the file on the man who'd killed Jethro's wife and daughter. Gibbs quickly rifled thru the file, learning that Pedro Hernandez was hiding on a _rancho_ outside of Buena Vista, Northern Sonora. The file thoughtfully included the GPS co-ordinates of the _rancho. _Gibbs was drinking bourbon from a coffee mug and making up a plan of action and equipment list so he could kill Pedro Hernandez.

**Orderly Room, Casual Company, Thursday, April 18, 1991 0830hrs**

While the Marine Corps made up its mind what to do with Gunnery Sgt. Gibbs, he was assigned to Casual Company. This unit was composed of Marines awaiting either reassignment or separation from the service. After morning formation, Jethro had no real assigned duties. Most days he went to the armory and helped out where he could. Today though he was going to request ten days leave, the first step in his plan.

Gibbs entered the Orderly Room and the Corporal behind the desk looked up.

"Morning, Gunny."

"Morning, Riley. Is the First Sergeant around?"

"He's in his office. Do you need to see him?"

"Yes."

Riley stood and lifted an end of the counter, pushing open the vertical portion, allowing Gibbs to walk behind the counter. The Corporal pointed down a short corridor.

"Second door on the left, Gunny."

"Thanks Corporal."  
"No problem."

Jethro went down the corridor and turned into the second door on the left. First Sergeant Roger Smith was sitting behind his desk banging away at a computer keyboard, a pair of reading glasses perched precariously towards the end of his nose. Smith was in his mid fifties, the sleeves of his immaculate desert camo utilities folded to just above his elbows, his hair in the traditional Marine "high and tight".

"Careful those cheaters don't fall off Rog."

Without turning his head, Smith spoke.

"Fuck you and the white horse you rode in on Gibbs."

Jethro chuckled and dropped into the chair in front of Smith's desk. The First Sergeant removed his reading glasses and swiveled around to face Gibbs.

"What can I do for you Jethro?"

Gibbs removed the leave request paperwork from the left breast pocket of his utilities and handed it to Smith.

"Ten day leave request Roger."

Smith took the paperwork, put his reading glasses back on and scanned the request.

"Don't see any problem. How come the first week in June?"

"I want to go hiking up north and my leg is still a little off. I figure another month of PT and running, an' I'll be good to go."

Smith nodded.

"Okay Gibbs, I'll give this to the Old Man. You gonna make the poker game Friday?"

Jethro smiled.

"Absolutely. I'd never pass up a chance to take your money Rog."

**State Road 82, south of Vail Arizona, June 2, 1991**

Gibbs used the month between his leave request and the start of his leave to good effect. He purchased clothing, a civilian GPS, and other items. He got some MRE's from a Supply sergeant he knew. Weapons were not a problem. He owned a Remington 700 rifle chambered in .308 caliber. It had a 3 to 9 power variable Redfield scope. Jethro also owned a Remington 870 shotgun. Thru the _Shotgun News_ he was able to buy an eighteen inch barrel for it. Gibbs would also be carrying his 92F.

Currently Jethro was headed towards the Mexican border. He was looking for a farm or ranch where he could stash his pickup. He'd walk across the border and hump the approximately two days it would take to get to the _rancho_ outside Buena Vista. As he rode down SR 82 the radio, tuned to a country station in Tucson played in the background. Robert Earl Keen was working his way thru "The Road Goes On Forever" in his rusty, reedy voice.

"_Sherry was a waitress at the only joint in town She had a reputation as a girl who got around Down Main Street after midnight with a brand new pack of cigs A fresh one hangin' from her lips and a beer between her legs She'd ride down to the river and meet with all her friends The road goes on forever and the party never ends…"_

Three miles short of the border, Jethro spotted a single mailbox and a rutted track going off to his left.

_Bingo_

He worked the pickup carefully down the rutted track, finally stopping in the dusty yard of a rundown looking ranch. There was a single story house, a barn and a small corral. On the porch of the house stood an older looking guy who could've been fifty or eighty. He was tanned dark brown, wearing boots faded Levi's and a long sleeved white shirt. There was a low crowned Stetson shading his eyes. Gibbs turned off the motor and stepped out of the pickup.

"Mornin', sir."

"Mornin' young feller. What kin I do for ya?"

"I need a place to leave my pickup while I go into Mexico."  
"Do ya now. Well, come on inside an' we'll palaver."

Gibbs crossed the yard, mounted the steps and followed the man into the house. The kitchen he stepped into was immaculate, looking freshly cleaned. Once inside the man removed his hat and stuck out his hand.

"Name's Morrel, Sam Morrel."

Jethro shook Morrel's hand.

"Jethro Gibbs."

"Light an' set Jethro. Coffee?"

Morrel motioned to a coffee pot sitting on a hot plate.

"Sure. Black'll be fine."

Morrel nodded and drew off two cups setting one in front of Gibbs.

"So what's this all about?"

Jethro leaned back in the kitchen chair sipping his coffee.

"I'm going into Mexico on foot and I need a place to leave my truck."

"You're gonna walk into Mexico?"

"Uh huh. I have some personal business to attend to near Buena Vista."  
"Be a sight easier to drive to Buena Vista."

"You're right, it would be. But what I need to do, needs to be done quietly."

"Well son, if you need a place to leave your truck, here's as good as any. You're not a smuggler or a _coyote_ are ya?"

"No sir, I'm not."

Morrel nodded.

"Okay, cost ya a hundred. That suit ya?"

"Thanks Mr. Morrel."  
"Call me Sam."  
Gibbs pulled his pickup into Sam's barn and unloaded his equipment. He had a rucksack with a soft rifle case attached, his shotgun and web gear. Jethro would be wearing tan combat boots, plain tan pants, a long sleeved tan shirt and a tan 'boonie hat'. He planned on leaving when it got dark and moving at night, laying up in a hide during the day. Supper time came and Morrel made a simple meal of fried venison, fried potatoes and canned green beans. After dinner they sat on the porch waiting for the sun to go down. Gibbs' gear was piled on the steps. Morrel was sitting in a rocker smoking a bulldog pipe and sipping from a can of Coors. Gibbs was sitting backwards on a kitchen chair, his forearms across the top. Morrel blew a smoke ring.

"Don't suppose you'd care to tell me what this is about?"  
"No, sir. No disrespect, but if this doesn't work out, the less you know the better."

Morrel nodded.

"Okay, but if you don't come back, what do I do with your truck?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Sell it and use the money for whatever. I left the title in the glove box."

"Trusting soul, ain't ya?"

"Nah, I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I don't think you'd steal my truck Sam."  
Morrel laughed.

"Son that truck ain't worth stealin'!"

Half an hour after full dark, Gibbs took his leave, buckling on his web gear and hoisting his ruck onto his back. He picked up the 870.

"See you in about a week Sam."

The two men shook hands.

"You take good care Gibbs. It can get pretty hairy out there."

"I'll keep that in mind."

With that, Gibbs turned away and after a minute his figure faded into the darkness.

**The **_**rancho,**_** outside Buena Vista, Mexico June 4, 1991 0410hrs**

The hump out to the _rancho _was uneventful. Gibbs dodged two groups of illegals on the Mexican side. After that he saw no one. He was in his hide before daylight on both days. He would sleep fitfully all day, getting up after dark. He would eat and drink, then get on the trail. Now he was looking down on his target. The area was quiet, no patrols out. It looked as if Hernandez was not expecting trouble. Gibbs would find a good spot for his observation hide. Once he settled in, he'd observe the routine of the house and decide if he needed to set up a shooting hide. Shooting. Gibbs grinned wolfishly, his mind's eye seeing the crosshairs of his scope imposed on Pedro Hernandez' head.

_Soon, very soon._

**A/N: **Okay, I'm thinkin' two, maybe three chapters. We'll see. On a totally unrelated topic, Sunday I was at the flea market and found "A History of the English Speaking Peoples" (all four volumes) for five bucks. Needless to say, I've been in my recliner at night reveling in Sir Winston's prose. Now there's a guy who can write! Speaking of writing, how about a review of mine? Would it help if I said "Pretty please?"


	2. Getting Out

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Authors Note: **Okay folks, looks like there's one more chapter to this story. As in the first chapter, I'm going to stray from canon. There's going to be no rolling over and screaming after the shot here. A point of order was brought up by **honeydust9251** in her review. Something about Kelly being 7 or 8. Well, I don't know about Kelly's DOB, but her date of death is in no dispute. It was February 28, 1991. There was no February 29th in '91 (canon date of death). So without further ado, on with the story. Hope you enjoy it.

**Spoilers: **Really? Do I have to say anything here? No? I didn't think so.

**The **_**rancho, **_**June 7, 1991 0900hrs**

For the past three days, Leroy Jethro Gibbs observed the _rancho_ from three different hides. He'd made up range cards for each one. Now he was lying in the hide that overlooked the track from the _rancho _to the road that led to Buena Vista. Gibbs meant to be gone by now. The reason he wasn't was he found out something disturbing on his first day of observing. Pedro Hernandez was married with two kids, a boy and a girl. While this information didn't change the ultimate goal of killing Hernandez, it did limit Jethro's opportunities. He would not kill the man in front of his family. This was why he was in the current hide. Apparently in the mornings Hernandez drove to Buena Vista in an old pickup. He went without escort or a bodyguard. So this morning if he came down the track he would die.

Technically it would be an easy shot. Gibbs' mark was three hundred yards from the hide. The pickup would be coming head on, a no deflection shot. However Gibbs would have to be ready for a second shot. The rake of the windshield could deflect the bullet. Jethro would have to quickly reacquire his target after the first shot. If the first shot was successful, Gibbs' gear was ready for a quick getaway. He'd case the rifle; don his ruck and unass the area. Gibbs figured he had at least twenty minutes before any pursuit could be mounted. Hernandez's guard force numbered only a half a dozen. They had several quad ATV's and an SUV. Gibbs would leave his hide, go all out and then go to ground. The desert was not unfamiliar to Jethro. If he could dodge the Republican Guard, a bunch of drug cartel muscle shouldn't be a problem. It was a still warm day; the temperature was already past eighty. In the distance Gibbs saw the pickup leave the ranch yard.

Jethro settled in behind his rifle. He started measured breathing to calm himself. As the pickup got closer, he'd start timing his heartbeats. Gibbs dialed up the magnification on the Redfield scope. Only one person in the truck and it was Hernandez. He dialed the scope back down and closed his eyes for a second. Memories of Shannon and Kelly clicked rapidly thru his mind slide show fashion. Tears leaked from his closed eyes.

_Goddamnit Gibbs, get a grip._

Jethro wiped his eyes and resettled himself behind the Remington 700. He eased off the safety and welded his cheek to the wooden stock. His heartbeat was loud but steady in his ears. The pickup was getting closer, Hernandez's head growing larger in the scope.

_Not Hernandez, just a target, just a target, just a target ,just a target…_

The word 'target' started to correspond to Gibbs' heartbeat. He was slipping into his 'zone'. The shot would come between heartbeats, when he was the steadiest. Jethro's finger tightened. The Remington bucked. Gibbs automatically worked the bolt and reacquired the pickup in the scope. There would be no need for a follow up shot. The pickup was swerving off the track and the view in the scope was of a very dead Pedro Hernandez.

Gibbs rolled over, pulling the rifle to him and sitting up. He quickly cased the Remington, shrugged into his ruck and picked up his shotgun.

_Time to get outta Dodge._

**The desert, north and east of the **_**rancho **_**1700hrs**

Getting away from the _rancho _was just as easy as Gibbs thought it would be. It was forty five minutes before he heard the first ATV. The going had been pretty good, low scrub and hard pack sand. Gibbs found a small fold in the ground and concealed himself. Several ATV's crisscrossed the area. The closest they got was about a quarter of a mile. Jethro gave it an hour and a half before he moved. Since he used an extra day at the _rancho _Jethro was behind his timetable. He would take a calculated risk and move during daylight. After it got dark he'd keep moving. He should reach Morrel's ranch at about 0430 on the 8th.

Currently Gibbs was on hard pack making his way toward some high ground to his front. His next break would come on the other side of the high ground. He'd been taking ten minute breaks every hour. From the other side of the high ground came the sound of several ATV's.

_Shit!_

Jethro stopped and looked around. He was walking on a pool table. No folds, no gullies, nothing. Gibbs chuckled darkly.

_No sense running, you'll just die tired._

Jethro pulled out a canteen and took two deep swallows. He pulled a rag from the pocket of his pants and rubbed the dust off the 870. After replacing the rag Gibbs clicked off the safety of the shotgun.

_Ready as I'll ever be._

He started walking towards the high ground. The sound of the ATV's got louder. Three crested the high ground and came down onto the hard pack. Gibbs stopped and waited, his feet shoulder width apart, the shotgun held diagonal across the front of his body. The three ATV's stopped forming a vee in front of Gibbs. They were five or six yards away. The leftmost rider unclipped an AK-47 from the handlebars of his quad. Gibbs grinned tightly.

"Howdy"

The rider at the point of the vee looked a little surprised. He also had an AK clipped to his quad, but made no move to unclip it. There was a pistol in a belt holster around his waist.

"Boss, what are you doing out here?"

"Taking a walk."  
"In the middle of the desert?"

"I was told it's very healthful to walk."  
The rider to Gibbs' right said something to the leader in Spanish that sounded to Gibbs like 'quit fucking around and let's just kill him'. The leader said something over his shoulder and turned back to Gibbs.

"Boss, it's very dangerous out here."

"Really?"

"Si', there's people who would kill you for your boots, let alone all the stuff you're carrying."

"Well, maybe I should get going then."

"I don't think so."  
With that, the bandit leader dropped his hand to his pistol. The one holding the AK started to point it at Gibbs.

The round under the hammer of the 870 was a rifled slug round. One ounce of lead. Jethro snapped the shotgun to the horizontal, triggering it at the AK gunner. The slug caught the bandit high in the chest, blowing him off his ATV.

Gibbs took a step to the left, racking the shotgun's slide. This put the bandit leader between Gibbs and the man on the right. The bandit leader clawed his pistol from its holster, bringing it up. A charge of double O buckshot hit him in the chest knocking him sideways and off his ATV. Gibbs racked the slide again. The third thug, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor was trying to start his ATV when the shotgun spoke for the third and final time.

"**FUCK"**

Gibbs didn't bother to check the guy on the left. The bandit leader was breathing his last, as was the guy on the right. Gibbs topped off the shotgun and picked up the three hulls from the ground. He briefly considered taking the weapons and valuables of the bandits but rejected the idea.

_Even federales could figure out that only one person did this._

Gibbs settled for making the weapons and ATV's inoperable. Then he got the hell out of there.

**Sam Morrel's ranch, June 8, 1991 0210hrs**

Gibbs was bushed. Since his confrontation with the bandits, he'd double timed it. When he reached the ranch, Jethro circled it, looking for signs of a reception committee. Luckily there were none. Now he was kneeling looking at the porch. There was a faint red glow in the area of Morrel's rocker. Gibbs spoke.

"Hello the house!"

The red glow disappeared and there was the sound of a weapon being cocked.

"Who's out there?"

"Gibbs."  
"Come ahead then."  
Jethro stood and walked in, keeping the muzzle of his 870 pointed down. As he got closer to the porch, Gibbs saw Sam Morrel standing next to one of the posts holding up the porch roof. There was a long gun barrel pointing in Gibbs' direction.

"It's me Sam."  
"I kin see that now Jethro. You're late."

Gibbs squinted. Morrel was carefully letting down the hammer on a Winchester Model 1897 pump shotgun.

"Sorry _Dad_. Didn't know there was a curfew."

"Smartass. I thought I was gonna be stuck with that pile-a-shit truck of yours."

Gibbs laughed.

"Well, you're off the hook. Got any coffee?"

"Not right now, but it'll be ready PDQ. C'mon in."

While the coffee was brewing Gibbs asked if he could clean his weapons. Wordlessly Morrel cleared the kitchen table and spread out newspaper.

"Have at it."

First Gibbs field stripped and cleaned the 870. Then he reloaded it. Next he did the same with the rifle, except he didn't reload it. Jethro cased the rifle leaning it on his ruck. Morrel watched without comment while Gibbs cleaned. After pouring them both coffees, he spoke.

"Run into some trouble?"

Gibbs debated a couple of seconds.

"On the way back."

"Well, there's no holes in ya, so it ended well I reckon."  
Gibbs smiled.

"Thanks."

After a few minutes of coffee sipping and silence, Gibbs spoke.

"Can I take a shower and change clothes?"

"Sure Gibbs. There's even some hot water left."  
After a shower and clean clothes, Jethro felt like a new man.

"Sam, thanks for your hospitality, I'm gonna take off."

"Shit Gibbs, Whyn't ya get a couple hours of sleep."

"Got things to do Sam."  
The two men moved Gibbs' gear to the barn and Jethro loaded his truck. Morrel opened the big doors to the barn and walked back to the truck. Gibbs stuck out his hand.

"Thanks again Sam."  
"De nada. One of these days you come back an' let me hear the story."  
Gibbs gave him a thin smile.

"I don't think so. Sorry."  
"Well, just come back. Don't get too many visitors out here."  
"We'll see. So long Sam."

With that Gibbs got in the pickup, fired it up and drove out. Soon the tail lights disappeared up the track. Morrel shook his head and walked back to his house.

**Gibbs' house, base housing, Camp Pendleton MCB, June 14, 1991 1710hrs**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting in his living room reading "Pegasus Bridge: June 6, 1944". His front doorbell rang. After marking his place he walked to the door and opened it. In front of him was a female Marine Second Lieutenant. Behind her were two very large enlisted Marines wearing MP brassards.

"Can I help you Lieutenant?"

"Are you Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

"Yes ma'am."  
"I'm Lieutenant Lara Macy. Would you come with us to the Provost Marshal's Office?"

"Sure Lieutenant. What's this about?"

"Murder."

**A/N: **As I said earlier, one more chapter. I'm a little surprised about the lack of interest in this story. But hey, a nice review will make me feel better.


	3. Getting Over

**Disclaimer: {This space intentionally left blank}**

**Authors Note: **Back in May I published my take on the events of February 28th 1991. This chapter ends my take on the aftermath of those events. I hope you all enjoyed it. To my 'core readers' thanks as always for comin' along for the ride. To my new readers, **yathink1123, DS2010, louise and Housianna**, thanks for giving my stuff a look. Hope you thought it was worth your time.

**Background: **This is really a technical note. In this chapter I'm going to mention **SERE **training. **SERE **stands for **S**urvival **E**vasion **R**esistance and **E**scape. This training is given to all members of the Armed Forces. Its severity is predicated on the assignment of the personnel being trained. Special ops personnel get the top end training. The more of a likelihood of you being captured the more dialed up the training.

"_Just as every cop is a criminal and all the sinners saints…"_- **"Sympathy for the Devil", the Rolling Stones, 1968**

**Provost Marshal's Office, Observation Room, Camp Pendleton MCB, June 15, 1991 0900hrs**

Second Lieutenant Lara Macy left the interrogation room and went a short distance down the hallway to the door of the observation room. As she entered, she smelled cigarette smoke.

"There's no smoking in here you know."

In the far corner of the room sat an older man, black slicked back hair, a black moustache, and a black suit. The tip of a cigarette glowed brightly as he inhaled.

"I didn't realize that Loo-ten-ant."

Macy snorted.

"Surrre. So what do you think Agent Franks?"

NIS Special Agent Mike Franks took another drag off his cigarette, then in his whiskey and cigarette tinged growl said, "I think you're overmatched."

Lara Macy bristled.

"What do you mean overmatched?"

Franks stood, taking a final drag on his cigarette before dropping it into a cold container of coffee that sat on the floor next to his chair.

"Well, you've had Gibbs here since five pm yesterday an' you ain't got shit out of him 'cept 'name, rank and serial number'. That's what I mean."

Macy glared at the older man.

"He's got motive, opportunity, and his alibi was weak."

"Okay, so he's not under arrest why?"

Lara Macy sighed.

"Because the Mexican government hasn't provided us with any physical evidence to buttress our case. Without that, my boss won't let me charge him."

At this point Macy glared thru the one way glass at Leroy Jethro Gibbs as he sat, legs crossed, hands in his lap staring calmly straight ahead.

"Bastard."

"Tisk, tisk lieutenant. I guess that means you need him to confess."

"Yes."

Franks grunted.

"Well, that's not happening in your lifetime."

Macy glared again.

"And why not?"

"Ever been thru SERE training?" Mike pronounced it 'sear'.

"Of course."

Mike chuckled.

"Not the puppyshit course you got after commissioning. I'm talking about the 'they chase you thru the woods, finally catch you, then beat the shit outta you to try an' get you to give up intel'. That one."

Macy made a face.

"Of course not."

Franks nodded at Gibbs.

"He has. Sensory deprivation, Sleep deprivation, stress positions, the whole nine yards. He also knows you can only hold him forty eight hours without charging him. So unless you plan on starting to yank out his finger and toe nails you might as well let him go now."

"So you think he didn't do it?"

"What I _think_ doesn't matter Macy. It's what I can _prove_ beyond reasonable doubt."

Lara Macy groaned.

"Okay, okay, I get your point."

"Well good, then my work here is done. Nice talkin' to ya."

With that, Mike started for the door.

Macy gaped.

"That's it? You're leaving?"

Mike turned his head.

"Well yeah. JAG and your bosses didn't want NIS investigatin' this one. We were 'too close to the suspect' since we investigated his wife and daughter's murders. So yeah, I'm outta here."

Mike Franks walked out, closing the door softly.

Lara Macy stood for several minutes staring at the closed door. She let out a disgusted sigh and turned to the tech recording the interrogation.

"After I tell 'Mr. Wonderful' he's free to go, you can shut down."

**Parking Lot, Provost Marshal's Office, 0930hrs**

When Leroy Jethro Gibbs walked out of the Provost Marshal's Office, he saw a familiar figure leaning against a battered looking Chevy Caprice, smoking a cigarette. He walked up to Mike Franks.

"This isn't part of the interrogation process is it?"

Mike blew a ribbon of smoke from his nose.

"Nah, I stuck around figuring you'd need a ride home."

"Well, you're right. The Military Prick working the desk said all his units were tied up an' I'd have to walk home."

Franks laughed.

"What did you expect? Hearts and Flowers? C'mon, I'll ride ya home."

The ride to Gibbs' house was made in silence. When Mike pulled into the driveway he put his hand on Gibbs' arm.

"Just 'cause you got over on Macy, don't let it go to your head. Remember, I'm the one who left the file on my desk and 'had to take a leak'. See ya around Gunny."

Without comment Gibbs got out of the Chevy and watched Mike Franks back out of his driveway and pull away.

_Son of a bitch._

**A/N: **And the rest as they say is history. Gibbs becomes an NIS/NCIS agent and some twenty years later

the events of the first half of 1991 _almost_ come back to bite him on the ass. Hope ya liked it.


End file.
